


Sherlock Holmes and the Morning Wood Mystery

by DoubleNegative



Series: The (Secret) Adventures of Sherlock Holmes [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bad Pick-Up Lines, Banter, Established Relationship, For Science John, For Science!, Humor, I feel presumptuous tagging for humor, M/M, Morning Wood, Sexual Content, Sherlock Being Sherlock, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, bwp: banter without plot, let's just call that one an aspirational tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 14:18:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4308354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubleNegative/pseuds/DoubleNegative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“John, this is painful to admit, but I’m finding this case particularly… hard. I require your immediate assistance.”</p><p>OR</p><p>Sherlock finds physiology surprisingly confusing, for a man who fancies himself a scientist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock Holmes and the Morning Wood Mystery

**Author's Note:**

> For a friend to whom I have owed a fic for a long, long time. She prefers anonymity, but she'll know who she is. Thanks for the patience, the enthusiasm, and the kind words!

“John,” Sherlock said from the bedroom. “I need you in here immediately.”

It was the tone, far more than the words, that alarmed John.

It wasn’t Sherlock’s bored voice, nor yet the imperious, demanding tones he used when he wanted John to do something insignificant for him, like fetch a pen. It wasn’t his sham seductive voice (used mainly in pursuit of evidence, confidential case files, and Mrs. Hudson’s shortbread), or even his real seductive voice (used entirely in pursuit of John).

It was calm, even, not overly loud. The last time John heard that tone, Sherlock had burst a pipe in the bathroom. The first time Sherlock had used it, he’d just caused a pungent chemical reaction in the kitchen.

(“John,” he’d said, cool as you please. “Open the windows.”

“Why?” John responded, not yet realizing the significance of that tone. “It’s bloody freezing out.” The billow of noxious fumes that rolled out of the kitchen at that very moment saved Sherlock tedium of answering.)

It was, in other words, Sherlock’s emergency voice, reserved for uncontrolled flames, poisonous gases, and loaded firearms _not_ wielded by John.

John dropped the toothbrush, swallowed his mouthful of minty foam, and flung the bathroom door open, stark naked and very worried.

No open flames, so far as he could tell. No strange smells, no assassins poised to strike. Just Sherlock, spread eagle on the bed, naked, aroused, and--if his tone and wide eyes were any indication--deeply alarmed.

“What’s wrong?” John demanded. After all, Sherlock wouldn’t _actually_ use his emergency voice for an erection, would he?

Well, he might.

“I have an erection.”

Not “might.” _Would_. Well, great.

John tipped his head back and let out a gusty sigh. “Jesus, Sherlock, you can’t scare me like that. I thought there was an actual emergency.”

Sherlock pushed himself up onto his elbows, radiating indignation. “There _is_ an actual emergency,” he said, gesturing at his groin. “Do you see this?”

“Hard to miss,” John said. He was trying not to stare--even considering their new relationship, it seemed impolite--but it _did_ draw the eye.

“It’s been here since I woke up. And it _won’t go away_.”

John blinked a few times. Life with Sherlock often took a turn for the surreal, all the more so since they began sleeping together, but this was a new level altogether. “Did you, ah-- Have you tried, you know, um…?”

Sherlock fixed him with a withering glare, its effect only slightly diminished by his unconcerned nudity and the absurd (gorgeous, mouth-watering) jut of his erection away from his body. “Masturbating, John. You’re a doctor and a grown man, surely you can say it without blushing.”

John bristled. “Well, you’re a fucking genius and a grown man; surely you’ve encountered morning wood before.” He couldn’t even tell, at this point, if Sherlock wanted _help_ with the situation or not; normally he was much more direct about his desires. Right now, he seemed more interested in complaining about his erection than indulging it, and whatever it was they had going on was still too fresh and new for John to feel comfortable… jumping in, as it were.

“Usually it goes away.” Sherlock pushed himself into a seated position--solely, John suspected, so that he could cross his arms and sulk more convincingly. “This is distracting.”

“It’s just physiology, Sherlock,” John said. “Try not to take it so personally.”

Sherlock huffed out an annoyed sigh. “I had _plans_ ,” he muttered, and ran one hand through his curls, standing them even more riotously on end.

(John would never, ever admit it out loud, but he secretly believed that getting to see Sherlock Holmes’s frankly adorable bedhead was one of the greatest gifts he’d ever been granted. Of course, with that great knowledge came an equally great fear: that someday Mycroft would read his secret on his face, and have him assassinated. _Worth it_ , he decided, as Sherlock tugged his curls into further disarray.)

“I just don’t understand why this one is so bloody _persistent_ ,” Sherlock admitted, after a moment. He folded his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, resting his chin on top and staring at John morosely.

John smiled, and hoped Sherlock wouldn’t read it as mockery. “Sherlock Holmes and the Morning Wood Mystery,” he said. “It’s got a ring to it.”

“You’re making fun of me,” Sherlock said.

“I’m really not,” John assured him. Then, taking a chance, he pressed on. “But I _am_ willing to help you solve the case.”

Sherlock raised one supercilious eyebrow. “That is the worst come-on I have _ever heard_.”

“Well, sure,” John said, perching on the edge of the bed. “But will it work?”

Sherlock sat back, scrunching up his nose in thought. “I suppose,” he said finally. He slumped back against the pillows, letting his legs fall open in a blatant display that belied his begrudging tone.

John paused. “You sure?” he asked. “I’m not trying to make you beg here, but if you’d really rather I, y’know, left you alone with things, that’s fine. You’re not going to hurt my feelings.”

“No, no,” Sherlock said. “Be my guest.” He waved a lazy hand in the general direction of his crotch.

“You’re a git,” John told him, crawling up the bed towards him.

“You keep _saying_ that,” Sherlock replied, and John didn’t miss the catch in his voice as he ran his hands up Sherlock’s thighs. “But then you keep--mmmph.”

John smiled against Sherlock’s mouth, and deepened the kiss as he settled himself more comfortably in Sherlock’s lap. Sherlock’s erection was trapped between them, but it was all right now, because John had one to match. Their breath mingled in soft moans and quiet hitching gasps as they rocked together. Sherlock’s hands slipped from John’s shoulders to his hips, digging in hard and pulling him flush.

“In fact,” Sherlock continued, as John kissed his way down Sherlock’s bare neck, along the sweep of his collarbone. “I think you _like_ when I’m a git.”

John laughed into Sherlock’s skin. “Mmm, caught me,” he said. “I may have a type.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows and removed one hand from John’s hips to rummage around on the bedside table. “Devastatingly brilliant consulting detectives? Irresistible, I’ve heard.”

John snorted. “So are gorgeous arrogant posh blokes with breathtaking arses.” He squeezed a handful of said breathtaking arse in illustration, chuckling at Sherlock’s undignified squeak of surprise.

“Less talking, more inarticulate moaning,” Sherlock ordered, wrapping his slicked-up hand around both their cocks and covering John’s mouth with his own.

Well, far be it from John Watson to disobey a direct order. He kissed back with enthusiasm, and found that between Sherlock’s clever tongue and talented hands, the inarticulate moaning was pretty much taking care of itself.

John could tell Sherlock was rapidly losing control as his climax barreled down on him. His hips stuttered, his head tipped back against the headboard, and his breath came in shallow, shaky gasps. “Yeah, that’s right,” John whispered, sucking a mark on Sherlock’s neck between words. “God, yeah, you’re so hot like this.” He stroked his hands down Sherlock’s chest, brushing his thumbs over Sherlock’s nipples.

“John,” Sherlock whispered, agonized and desperate. “ _Please_.”

John wrapped one hand around Sherlock’s where it encircled their cocks, and dropped his head to Sherlock’s shoulder, biting down just this side of too hard. Sherlock let out a long, ragged moan and came hard, his release spurting hot and sticky against their stomachs. He slumped back against the headboard, flushed and exhausted, watching through half-lidded eyes as John kept working his own prick. John braced one hand against the wall next to Sherlock, while the other moved faster, over skin slick with lube and sweat and semen. It took just a few more strokes, and the sight of Sherlock, messy and sated, to bring him over the edge. He rolled to the side, panting, and stretched himself out next to Sherlock.

“Well,” he said, when he got his breath back. “That’s one case successfully closed.”

He waited for the inevitable eyeroll, and a chiding comment about his terrible lines, but Sherlock just looked at him through narrowed eyes. “If I were to fall asleep again,” he began slowly. “Would I wake up with another erection, do you think?”

“Well, maybe,” John said. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try it and see.” He reached down to the foot of the bed and pulled the comforter over them both.

“Think we’d better,” Sherlock said, drowsiness slurring his words. “Science demands it.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuses. I DO, however, have several dozen Internet Brownies to offer to anyone who can come up with a more clever series title than what I've got now. I promise I'm better at Internet Brownies than I am at series titles.


End file.
